Ameristocracy Read online

  Ameristocracy

  A Novella

  By Paul Moxham

  Contact Author:

  Website: Check Out My Other Books

  Twitter: Check Out My Twitter Page

  Email: [email protected]

  When a conspiracy theorist cop stumbles upon the secret society responsible for the assassinations of Lincoln and Kennedy, he becomes convinced that they now have the newly elected President squarely in their crosshairs.

  All rights reserved, without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  PREFACE

  This novella is set in present day America and uses American English. To convey the feeling that you are with the characters, I have used present tense.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Baltimore, Maryland, 1865

  As the sun slowly sets over the fields of Baltimore, a number of men of great power and influence are congregating in a private library. The walls are lined with hardbound texts while leather-appointed seats cover the floor space.

  One such man, a middle aged man with a bushy beard, commands all attention as he struts back and forth in his sharp suit, his thumbs hooked into his vest. “Gentlemen, we all agree our nation has been led astray. This usurper has turned our guns against our own and threatens to transform an inferior class of citizenry into full-fledged Americans. The bloodline of the Ameristocracy has for a century reigned over this great nation, but with his actions, this man threatens to steal our divine right to lead.”

  He pauses as hurumphs and um-hmms are heard from the assembled men. He then continues. “So by the power of our sacred order, I hereby enter a motion that we eliminate this man.”

  He glances around the room. No one answers aloud. Instead, each man puts a single hand upon their knee, tapping identical gold rings as their response. Rings with a symbol that looks like it’s part flag, part crown emblazoned upon them. The decision is unanimous.

  The leader nods. “Good. I have taken the liberty of enlisting a man of uncompromised vitriol to do our bidding.... Mr. John Wilkes Booth.” He motions to the rear of the room and the assembled men shift in their seat to see John Booth, standing hat-in-hand, eyes lowered in reverence to the men before him.

  A few nights later in the Ford theatre, Booth barricades a doorway behind him. He casts his eyes upon the entry to the presidential box. It’s unguarded.

  He leans back against the wall. Sweat beads along his hairline and his breath quickens. A trembling hand unbuttons his jacket and reaches inside.

  Eyes closed, Booth listens to faint sounds of the play in progress - an actor waiting for his cue.

  Nearby, in the presidential box, President Lincoln, his wife Mary, and guests Henry Rathbone and Clara Harris chuckle in good humor as they watch a performance of Our American Cousin.

  On the stage, an actor speaks his line. “Don't know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal; you sockdologizing old man-trap!”

  The crowd erupts in laughter as Booth rushes onto the balcony, eyes wide as he produces a pistol. He fires a shot through Lincoln’s head!

  Lincoln slumps in his rocking chair and Rathbone bounds over to stop Booth, the commotion quickly evolving into panic and screaming that fills the theatre…

  Baltimore, Maryland, 1963

  The same study. Same furniture. Same sacred texts on the shelves. But a different set of men. The attire is still impressive, the demeanor still stern, as a new leader speaks to his compatriots. “Gentlemen, we have long stood in the background, wielding power and control as is our divine right through blood, but just as what happened a century ago, our control is being threatened by a man fearful of military entanglements, swayed by his brother to acquiesce to the wishes of the an inferior race and class. The time has come, gentlemen, to do the deed again. I hereby enter the motion.”

  The men tap their rings, the exact same rings that counted votes a hundred years before, on their knees.

  The new leader nods. “So we are decided.”

  A few days later, in downtown Dallas, President Kennedy’s motorcade rolls through the streets. In an upstairs room of a nearby building, a gun-wielding Lee Harvey Oswald, leans out of a window.

  He waits as the motorcade rolls past, then he squeezes the trigger… Blam!

  Panic ensues. Screaming. Running. Chaos...

  Chapter 1

  Washington D.C, Present Day

  Riiiinnnggg! The blare of an alarm hits a liquor store. Strobe lights flicker. An angry shopkeeper stands in the doorway, clutching a handgun. “Thief!”

  He turns and sees a D.C. Police Cruiser round the corner, red-and-blue lights flashing, siren whooping. The shopkeeper hides his handgun behind his back and hooks a finger down the street. “He went that way.”

  The cruiser continues down the alleyway where, covered head-to-toe in black - jeans, hoodie, even sneakers - the thief scrambles down an alley. He crashes into a row of trash cans, barely able to keep on his feet. He doesn’t even look back as the police cruiser rolls up behind him.

  Behind the wheel is Officer Maggie Templeton. She’s good looking, in her 30’s, and sweet but strong. In the passenger seat is the handsome but high-strung Jack Mitchell, thirty seven, a mop of brown hair covering his head.

  Before the cruiser even comes to a stop, Jack throws open the door and jumps out to give chase.

  Maggie yells out. “Mitchell, wait!”

  But Jack’s long gone as he chases the thief down the alleyway, barreling through the same set of trash cans as he goes. Like the thief, Jack almost loses his footing, but he manages to stay up.

  When he looks up again, the thief is throwing something back at him. Jack braces as a shoe hits him in the face. When he realizes what it is, it just seems to make him madder. Now he really jumps into action.

  “Freeze!” Jack lurches forward, jumps up and grabs the bottom rung of a fire escape ladder. His momentum propels him forward as he swings off the ladder and onto a dumpster. He takes two quick steps across the black plastic lids, then launches himself in the air, flying high, arms spread. He crashes down atop the thief, the two of them sprawling across the pavement.

  The thief tries to run, but Jack overpowers him, pulling him to his feet and spinning him around. Jack’s jaw drops as he sees the thief’s face. Wide-eyed, frightened, still has baby fat on his cheeks. The thief is twelve years old, thirteen at the most. The thief glances down at the stolen goods in his hand.

  Jack follows his gaze and sees a Snickers bar. He can’t believe it. His grip on the thief’s elbow slips and the thief takes off running again.

  Jack looks up, shaking off the surprise of the moment just in time to see the thief crash into Maggie, who has driven around to the other side of the alley. The thief squirms, but Maggie quickly spins him around and reaches for her cuffs. “Okay, okay. Just settle down there. You have the right to remain silent...”

  Jack walks up, still a little dazed by what has transpired. Maggie slaps the cuffs on the thief as Jack reaches forward and grabs her by the wrist, stopping her. Maggie glances down
at Jack’s hand on her wrist and even smiles a second before asking: “What?”

  Jack unlocks the cuffs. He looks at the kid. “Go on, get out of here.” The thief shuffles away. “Hey, kid!” The frightened child stops at the corner. “Stay away from Snickers. Mars Corporation spends millions bribing politicians to keep quiet about illegal workers and unsafe products. You want an honest, American candy bar, stick with Hershey.”

  The confused thief scurries around the corner as Maggie gives Jack a look mixed with curiosity and respect. She heads for the car door. “You coming?”

  “Where’re we going?” asks Jack

  “If we’re not making busts, we may as well take some target practice,” she replies, smiling.

  There’s Guinness on tap and rock ‘n roll on the jukebox at the Irish pub as Jack and Maggie shoot darts in the back.

  Swoosh... A dart flies through the air and hits double-20. Maggie pumps her fist in victory. “That’s another finsky you owe me.”

  “Put it on my tab,” answers Jack.

  Maggie gives Jack a playful punch to the arm. He shoots her a look, she returns a smile. A little too flirtatious for partners but hey, the beer’s flowing, and these two are clearly close.

  “Okay,” grins Maggie, “you want your money back? We’ll go double-or-nothing.”

  “You’re on, Templeton,” smiles Jack. He walks up to the dartboard and collects the darts. Then walks back and hands Maggie’s darts to her.

  He stops to sip his beer, but Maggie knocks her hip into his, nudging him to the line. “You go first.”

  Jack puts his beer down and steps up to the line. He lines up his shot as Maggie yells out. “Don’t choke!”

  The dart flies and misses wide as it hits the corkboard. Jack spins on Maggie and shoots her a glare. “Oh, so that’s how you’re gonna win? Shouting in my ear?”

  Maggie grins. “If you can’t stand the pressure, big boy, maybe you shouldn’t be playing.”

  Jack shakes off Maggie’s playful grin and turns back to the board. This time he fires off a dart that hits pretty darn close to the bull's-eye. “Huh? How’s that now?”

  “Not bad for a mama’s boy.”

  “Okay, make your jokes while you can. That’s temporary.”

  Maggie walks around behind Jack, moving a little too close. “Relax, Mitchell. Now, you gonna throw your third dart or what?”

  Jack rears back and fires. Another good shot.

  “Nice,” comments Maggie. She smacks Jack on the back as he walks toward the board to collect his darts. When he turns back around, Maggie’s already aiming for the board. She lets the dart fly. Jack ducks just in time...

  The dart whizzes past his head and lands squarely on 19. Jack rises back up, eyes bulging in disbelief as Maggie steps forward and whispers in Jack’s ear. “Too close for comfort?”

  Maggie backs up to line up her next shot and Jack scrambles out of the way. He shuffles to the nearby table and picks up his beer.

  But as he lifts the bottle to his lips, his eyes are drawn to the television mounted in the corner. It is showing file footage of two powerful and well-dressed men walking across the White House Rose Garden. One is Chief of Staff Peter Phelps, 50s, wearing his salt-and-pepper temples like a badge of honor and a $5000 suit as though he was born in it. The other is Vice President-Elect James Hawkins, late 40s, strong and powerful, moving with an easy gait and waving to the camera.

  The news reporter speaks as the footage is shown. “White House Chief of Staff Peter Phelps has been asked to stay on in that prestigious position, a choice many credit to the influence of Vice President-Elect Hawkins, a longtime friend of the powerful Washington insider.”

  Footage of President-Elect Ben Lombard as he rallies outside a factory with picketing union workers is shown as the reporter continues speaking. “Pundits suggest the choice clashes with the reform message of Lombard, whose surprise victory in the fall came with promises to take on the Washington establishment and powerful business interests. Many see the continuation of Phelps’s service as Lombard’s bipartisan attempt to ease the transition as the incoming president hopes to pass his famous Renewed Society program, a series of reforms likely to shake up all areas of domestic policy, ranging from healthcare to energy.”

  Footage of the rotund, balding Speaker of the House, Andrew Baxter, is shown as he speaks on the floor of Congress as the reporter continues. “The program’s staunchest opponent, Speaker of the House Andrew Baxter, carries only a slim majority in his house and may have trouble halting the president’s growing momentum. The coming Inauguration promises to provide a great deal of drama on Capitol Hill.”

  The reporter concludes speaking and switches to another topic as Jack sits down at a nearby table and shakes his head. “Big things happening in the world. Huge.”

  Maggie lets a dart fly. “Oh, here we go again...”

  Jack takes no notice of her. “False flag attacks and unjustified wars. Big Pharma and Oil companies running the show for God knows how long. Now we just have to wait and see if this new hero is gonna be just like the others. Government, of, by and for whom? Sure as hell not the people!”

  Maggie looks over at the bartender, who rolls her eyes at Jack’s rant.

  “The whole country is getting robbed blind and we’re not doing a damn thing about it. Just busting kids with candy bars,” concludes Jack.

  “What? Not the kind of ‘protect and serve’ you had in mind?”

  “It’s enough to drive a cop nuts. Might explain my father.”

  Maggie perks up, and her interest draws her to the table. She sits down.

  “You must have heard stories,” continues Jake. “But you never asked.”

  Maggie nods. “Figured it wasn’t my place. Maybe you’d talk when you wanted to.”

  Jack shrugs. “Not much to tell, really. A few years back, he just left. No explanation, no promise to return. Just packed up and moved out to a house in Virginia. And he won’t return calls or answer letters. I just don’t get it.”

  “Always looking to resolve people’s hidden natures, huh?” smiles Maggie.

  “When you don’t understand the people closest to you, it makes it hard to trust anybody, you know?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  Jack looks up. He fights off a small smile, then downs the rest of his beer and stands. “Not when you’ve got a dart in your hand.”

  Chapter 2

  That evening, Jack huddles behind a computer in his bedroom, reading a blog entitled: The Truth Revealed.

  All around him in the room are newspaper clippings and bumpers stickers held to walls and corkboards by thumbtacks. His conspiracy theories are laid out concisely by phrases like: 9/11 Was An Inside Job, Just Because You’re Paranoid Doesn’t Mean They Aren’t Out To Get You, Who Is Spying On Who?

  “I’m leaving,” calls out a voice.

  Jack glances over his shoulder and sees his mother, Nancy, standing in the doorway. She’s putting on earrings and looking rather stunning in an evening gown.

  Jack shifts uncomfortably. “Shouldn’t you wear your wedding ring? I mean, you’re still married, right?”

  “That would make for a pretty awkward first date.”

  Jack gives her a judgmental look and she shoots him a glare.

  “What? You want me to sit around the house like an old maid? When your father left…”

  Jack stands abruptly to retort. Nancy glances at her watch. She doesn’t have time to fight a fight they’ve clearly had before. “I’ve got to go. Just tell me I look good, okay?”

  Jack sighs, calms down. “You look great, Mom.”

  Nancy starts to turn away, then stops, and turns back to her son. “Oh Jack...” She digs into her purse and pulls out a scuffed envelope. “This came from Charles.” She tosses the envelope to Jack. It sails through the air and lands at his feet.

  The return address reads: United States Secret Service. Jack looks at the seal, a slight snarl appearing on his lips. “Secret
Service.”

  “Go on, open it,” requests Nancy.

  Jack reluctantly opens the envelope and pulls out its contents. It’s an official invitation to the Presidential Inaugural Ball. He mutters. “Sure, rub it in...”

  When Jack looks up, his mother is already disappearing down the hallway. “Don’t forget to thank him.”

  Celebratory lights sparkle against the falling snow, making the White House look even more amazing than usual.

  It’s a black tie affair inside one of the many ballrooms. Dignitaries in tuxes, trophy wives in sequined dresses.

  Everyone goes silent as the Chief of Staff Peter Phelps makes an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, the President-Elect of the United States... Benjamin Lombard!”

  Everyone applauds politely as they watch Lombard, dashing and commanding in his perfectly-tailored tuxedo, make his way through the room, shaking hands vigorously.

  Across the room, Jack stands alone in the corner, watching the President-Elect and Chief of Staff from afar as he sips a light beer.

  “What are you, a tea-totaler?” calls out a voice.

  Jack spins around, grinning as he sees old friend Charles Long, thirty six, clean shaven and dressed impeccably in a black suit. They embrace.

  “Gotta keep my wits about me in this den of wolves,” answers Jack.

  Charles grins. “Same old Jack.”

  “Thanks for the invite, Charles. This is... Amazing. I still can’t believe you got this gig.”

  “Yeah, the six years of background checks paid off. C’mon, let me show you around.”

  Charles leads the way around various hallways till they come to a balcony from where they can see the fabled White House Rose Garden.